


Cast Out of Heaven

by laurashapiro



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst, BDSM, Multi, Rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1998-10-25
Updated: 1998-10-25
Packaged: 2017-10-02 02:17:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laurashapiro/pseuds/laurashapiro
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This story owes everything to Te and her wonderful M/K pieces, particularly Other Paths.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Cast Out of Heaven

**Author's Note:**

> This story owes everything to Te and her wonderful M/K pieces, particularly Other Paths.

An unfamiliar tread fell softly on the edge of his mind. Warm pressure on   
his arms slid through the thick haze between waking and sleeping, and in his   
dream the younger man held Mulder's arms behind his back and fucked him.   
Mulder reached gratefully back into the downdeep, but sleep kissed him   
gently goodbye as a cold hardness snicked shut around his wrists.

"Alex?"

Hot breath licked the mole on his cheek.

"Guess again."

_oh shit_

"You wish it were Alex, though, don't you? You son of a bitch."

Cold fire finger jammed into his spine.

"Scully, that's not loaded, right?"

"Why not? That's what gets you off, isn't it? Playing with loaded guns?"   
Glossy 8x10's skittered onto the cushions in front of him. "It sure looks like   
that's what you were doing here."

Alex. A scuffle in a parking garage. Knees grinding into the asphalt, aching   
groin. Bitterness in his throat.

Security cameras.

"Where did you --"

"They were sent to me anonymously. To my home." Her voice was choked. "I   
didn't believe it, I came here to --" she broke off, and when she spoke again   
her voice was hard. "How long have you been fucking him, Mulder?"

Want and fear and sorrow mingled in a crazily familiar marinade, its recipe   
slightly altered to incorporate the ingredients at hand: his partner, pressing   
her gun into his back.

"Where is he? Doesn't he share your miserable sofa? Or does he just climb   
out the window after he's through with you?"

Mulder almost laughed.

_she's the spooky one_

"He left me, Scully."

She gripped his shoulder and he felt himself rolled towards her.

Tennis shoes, exchanging her crisp stride for a cat burglar's tread. Jeans, well   
broken in. Soft, clingy sweater. She probably spent an hour in the bathroom to   
achieve that "not wearing makeup" look. Her face was set in a snarl, her eyes   
glistened when they met his.

"You love him."

It was not a question.

His eyes burned and threated to melt, and he swallowed hard.

"You BASTARD!"

A brisk backhand caught him on the cheekbone, a hand full of gun and   
driven by mad rage. He tried to raise his hand to his cheek but remembered   
the cuffs as they cut into his wrists. He pulled a muscle in his upper arm. It   
hurt like hell.

"You're beautiful when you're angry, Scully."

She seized him by the shoulders and dragged him up off the couch, flinging   
him in the general direction of the wall. She was behind him in an instant,   
pinning his chest to the plaster, her warm, denim-clad knee working its way   
between his bare legs, chafing his ass through his thin shorts.

"Don't patronize me, you prick."

Alarmed, Mulder became aware of hot tightness in his groin, and a needle in   
some unexamined part of him slid gently into a groove he hadn't known was   
there, playing a well-known song from a well-worn circle of darkess. Scully   
didn't belong here.

She was silent behind him, her body pressed agaist his back. Her breasts were   
strange and pleasing softness. Her heat was palpable. His arms ached.

"Scully, please, take the handcuffs off."

She bit him, hard, in the soft place below the shoulderblade. Sting-throb   
surety of broken skin, flowing blood

_you should know better, Doctor_

and then the slick ache of lapping tongue smoothing the pain away.

"Not a chance." She ground herself against him again, and his fingers were   
smashed suggestively against her pubis as the gun hovered coolly around his   
left ear. "Shall I fuck you with it, Mulder?"

She moved back and drew the gun lightly down his spine, using the muzzle   
to pluck at the waistband of his boxers. He angled himself backward and made   
a feinting

_awkward_

grab for her snatch. She dangled on his finger for a moment, and he seized   
the initiative, stroking teasingly down the crotch seam that moistened to his   
touch. He felt her writhe, and then his fingers grasped the damp air where   
she'd been.

Cold, cold hardness nudged his boxers down, and she shoved them   
impatiently down his thighs. He felt the barrel against his coccyx, parting him,   
seeking.

He froze at the first chilling touch at his entrance. A thrill throbbed from his   
groin to his throat. He felt himself opening to receive

_god no_

something, and the gun clattered to the floor as two slender, manicured   
fingers worked him slowly and

_I'll be damned_

knowledgeably. Her other hand mauled his buttock for a moment, and then   
wrapped itself firmly around his cock. His hips knew no shame, rocking back   
and forth between her hands, hands that should not know him this way,   
should not control him this way. He felt her breath, quick and hot, between   
his shoulder blades, and found a moment to wonder why on earth this was   
happening.

"Scully--"

"Don't talk." The delicious stroking of his cock ceased abruptly, and he almost   
whined, but a jingling announced the immediate removal of the cuffs. A   
second's fumble, a slowing, ceasing, and then resurgence of those sweetslick   
fingers, and the handcuffs joined the gun on the floor. Mulder allowed   
himself a moan as he raised his arms, palms flat against the wall now, and   
Scully's hand moved back to his cock. Her thumb swept over its weeping eye   
and he closed his eyes, giving in, not asking, not wanting to know, not   
wanting anything except more.

"Do you know how beautiful you are?" she asked him. Her tempo increased,   
bringing sweat out on his back.

"Please..."

Her hands were gone, both of them. His body wailed its abandonment. She   
spun him around and kissed him fiercely, bruisingly, a kiss of

_a woman scorned_

rage and something else he feared much more. He surprised himself. He   
kissed her back, and it was more than just the need in his aching balls that   
motivated him. He wanted to touch her, and perhaps to understand. He felt   
her pain as he had felt it often, but with a new object, and a new release she   
had seemed to design from the darkest twists of his mind. He would not   
allow her that darkness, dammit, no matter how well she wore it.

For her sake, then, he returned the kiss, cupping her face gently in his hands   
as though she would shatter. But she shrugged off his tenderness with a snarl,   
pulling him down with her to the floor and shoving him onto his back. She   
suckled him greedily for a few moments, and then pushed his legs up to   
make way for those tiny, strong fingers, three this time, which slammed   
aggressively into him. He spared a moment to damn his own weakness, and   
then fell cravingly into her rhythm, which was his own. She was staring   
intently into his face, perspiration curling the hair at her temples, her mouth   
slightly open. Her other fist pumped his cock, and he held onto nothing,   
balanced aloft between her determined hands until he cried out with an   
inarticulate, animal sound.

When he could open his eyes, he saw the tears in hers, but her face was still   
set. He reached for her, but she stood up, shaking. She regarded him on the   
floor for a moment, and unzipped herself.

"I want your mouth on me."

"Can I clean up first?"

"No."

_I could stop this now. I should stop this now_

He got up onto his knees and commenced the inevitable tug-of-war with her   
jeans. Her fragrance rose in the still air of the apartment as he worked her so-  
very-Scully practical cotton underwear down and off. He braved a glance at   
her, naked from the waist down but still somehow dignified. Her curves   
beckoned softly, whitely, and he caressed her thighs and plushy ass until she   
growled

"Now."

and buried her fingers in his hair. She hissed as tongue made first teasing   
contact with swollen flesh. He toyed with her, dancing around but never   
quite making contact with her clit. Scully dug her claws into his scalp until he   
lapped again there. She tasted

_female_

salty and earthy and new. He felt the tension gathering in her wet wildness.   
Her breathing was rapid. Keeping his mouth glued to her undulations, he   
looked up to see her head thrown back in exaltation. Contractions fluttered   
under his tongue and she clutched at his head, coming. She made not a   
sound.

An eternity spun with increasing slowness around Mulder's head, that   
needle just lifting out of its familiar groove and the well-known black circle   
coming to a stop. He gazed at her as she pulled her pants up, seeing for the   
first time the stain on her soul, a bond they should never have shared.

_another thing that's my fault_

Halfheartedly, he reached for her, groping to offer an embrace they both   
would have welcomed just yesterday.

Scully pushed him away and leaned against the wall, her face wet with   
shattered illusions.

"Not...like that. Not anymore," she gasped, "I thought --" she covered her face   
with her hands, gulping down sobs. "I thought you were --"

Mulder watched her fight for control, but it soon became obvious that she   
would never voice what they both now knew.

_more blood on my hands_

He went to the bathroom to wash. When he came out, she was gone.

THE END


End file.
